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When the fooling was ended all hands made a raid on Joe's big coffee-pot by the fire for a Java nightcap. Ranse watched the new knight carefully to see if he understood and was worthy. Curly limped with his cup of coffee to a log and sat upon it. Long Collins followed and sat by his side. Buck Rabb went and sat at the other. Curly grinned.
"He won't work, and he's the low- downest passel of inhumanity I ever see. I didn't know what you wanted done with him, Ranse, so I just let him set. That seems to suit him. He's been condemned to death by the boys a dozen times, but I told 'em maybe you was savin' him for the torture." Ranse took off his coat. "I've got a hard job before me, Buck, I reckon, but it has to be done.
Ranse walked out toward the jacals. A boy came running. "Manuel, can you catch Vaminos, in the little pasture, for me?" "Why not, señor? I saw him near the puerta but two hours past. He bears a drag-rope." "Get him and saddle him as quick as you can." "Prontito, señor."
Ranse went to the water barrel and washed the red from a cut on his chin in the stream from the faucet. On his face was a grin of satisfaction. Much benefit might accrue to educators and moralists if they could know the details of the curriculum of reclamation through which Ranse put his waif during the month that he spent in the San Gabriel camp.
He caught something harder than a blanket and pulled out a fearful thing a shapeless, muddy bunch of leather tied together with wire and twine. From its ragged end, like the head and claws of a disturbed turtle, protruded human toes. "Who-ee!" yelled Long Collins. "Ranse, are you a-packin' around of corpuses? Here's a howlin' grasshoppers!"
Ranse Roush Pays Jim Thursday knew that his sole chance of success lay in reaching the fork of the cañons before the Indians. So far he had been lucky. Three Apaches had gone to their happy hunting ground, and though both he and Billie were wounded, his hurt at least did not interfere with accurate rifle-fire. But it was not reasonable to expect such good fortune to hold.
It was kind of by accident, but it's all right." "You've been like a son to me," said old "Kiowa," trembling. "Tia Juana told me all about it," said Ranse. "She told me how you adopted me when I was knee-high to a puddle duck out of a wagon train of prospectors that was bound West. And she told me how the kid your own kid, you know got lost or was run away with.
"How'd you come in my wagon?" repeated Ranse, this time in a voice that drew a reply. Curly recognised the tone. He had heard it used by freight brakemen and large persons in blue carrying clubs. "Me?" he growled. "Oh, was you talkin' to me? Why, I was on my way to the Menger, but my valet had forgot to pack my pyjamas. So I crawled into that wagon in the wagon-yard see?
A rabbit might tear you to pieces." He conducted Curly to a large shed where the ranch vehicles were kept. There he spread out a canvas cot and brought blankets. "I don't suppose you can sleep," said Ranse, "since you've been pounding your ear for twenty-four hours. But you can camp here till morning. I'll have Pedro fetch you up some grub." "Sleep!" said Curly. "I can sleep a week.
Sam Revell was taking off his tan shoes regretfully and preparing for bed. "Any of the boys from the San Gabriel camp riding in early in the morning?" asked Ranse. "Long Collins," said Sam briefly. "For the mail." "Tell him," said Ranse, "to take that tramp out to camp with him and keep him till I get there."
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